


Twelve Days of Mistletoe Dreams

by tanwencooper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, F/M, Funny, Humour, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Mistletoe, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Sex Pollen, Stalker, Tropes are Forever, Twelve Days Of Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwencooper/pseuds/tanwencooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia and Allison decide to do a harmless little enchantment while fixing up the Hale house. A week later Stiles wakes up to find a frozen turkey in his bed.  The next day he finds two turtles covered in feathers in his sock drawer. They are just the first in a stream of odd gifts that leaves Stiles and the pack wondering just who really thinks that Stiles is their 'true love'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Days of Mistletoe Dreams

     As well as knowing how to make a self-igniting molotov cocktail, archaic Latin and being a straight-A Harvard junior, Lydia was apparently a damn good electrician. Working out how to wire up the Hale house without the blowing a fuse everytime you used the microwave had been the hardest task in the great rebuild but she'd managed it. All the pack had been roped in and she was Jackson's girlfriend, that made her pack. Hence the reason she was standing on top of a step ladder screwing in the last of the light fittings. She just needed to finish off here and then they could start the serious business of putting up the Christmas lights while praying the extra draw didn't blow up the house they'd just finished building.
     “Hand me the other screwdriver,” she said.
     “Doesn't it seem a bit weird to you to be in Derek's room like this?” said Allison, handing it up.
     “I think it's weird that Derek even has a room. I always assumed he slept on a rug in a corner somewhere.”
     Allison smiled and shook her head.
     “Are you nearly done? I want to put up the decorations. I made tree ornaments from these little figures of wolves with tiny Santa hats. They're adorable. Derek will hate them. It's going to be amazing.”
     Lydia got down from the step ladder, wires still trailing from the ceiling. She crossed over to where her tool box was sat on the floor.
     “You've been going out with Scott for too long. You are turning into such a nerd. I've got a much better idea.”
     Removing the tray in the middle she pulled out a green sprig of leaves and berries. Holding it above their heads, she gave Allison a friendly peck on the cheek.
     “Mistletoe? Isn't there a whole branch of it downstairs?”
     “Yup. But this is the real thing, the European kind. _Viscum Album._ There's an outbreak that grows near here.”
     Allison pulled her sleeves down over her hands, frowning.
     “Why do I get the feeling this is going to end with something I don't like?”
     Lydia laughed and pulled out a book from the tool box: A _guide to the true Pagan Christmas for practical Wicca._ Since the last year of high school Lydia had been getting more and more into the wonderful world of magic, ever since she'd found out that some of it actually worked. She was getting pretty good.
     “Please tell me you're not going to cast a spell on Derek.”
     “Not a spell exactly,” Lydia said opening the book.“'Mistletoe was used as a representation of the divine male essence',” she read aloud, “'associated with vitality, fertlity... and romance.'”
     She pulled her best romance novel cover pose before carrying on.
     “It goes on about how people started putting it up at Christmas and then... aha! 'In certain parts of Scandinavia they believed that if you hung mistletoe and mugwort together above your bed then you would dream of your one true love'.”
     “Let me guess. You have mugwort in the toolbox as well.”
     Lydia held out the little bottle of dried leaves and flowers with a flourish.
     “Herb of protection, herb of dreams. No self respecting witch should be without it.”
     She uncorked the bottle and knocked out a few stems onto the step of the ladder and quickly bound them onto the mistletoe with a festive red ribbon. After both she and Allison had given it a kiss for luck she climbed back up the ladder and slid the bundle into the hole in the ceiling. A few minutes later the light fitting was in place with no sign of anything hidden in the ceiling.
     “You know Derek would flip if he knew you were putting a spell on him,” Allison said in a hushed whisper. You could never be too careful in this house.
     “It's not a spell,” Lydia repeated. “It's more like a ward or helpful suggestion. Besides he's been far to much of a grumpy cat recently. It probably won't do anything and if it does it will just make him dream the face of his one true love. What's so bad about that?”
     Allison couldn't fault the logic. Derek was getting better, but he'd lost most of his friends when the pack had all dispersed off to their various colleges. They came back every break to bond and help out with the house, but every time they left Derek just looked so forlorn. He could do with a little love in his life.
     “So.” Lydia said with a loud clap of her hands. “Just the hallway and then we are finally done, and I get to see these famous tree ornaments.”
    
    
    
    **The First Day**
     Stiles was having a very nice dream. It involved a sandwich where Emma Stone and Andrew Garfield were the bread and he was the meat. Unfortunately it was morning and morning meant waking up and getting up. He stretched out his arms under the sheet, glorying in the warmth of them as he cracked every vertebrae in his spine when his hand struck against something cold.
     “What the...”
     He pulled back the sheets to see a 20lb frozen turkey staring at him.
     “WHAT THE...!”
     How the hell had a 20lb now-slightly-thawed turkey suddenly appeared in his bed! It made no sense.
     'Oh crap', he thought sinking down into his pillows. 'It's happening again'. He hadn't sleep walked since he'd started taking Aderall but he'd accidentally left his medication at college when he'd come home for Christmas.
     “You alright son?” His father shouted through the wall, experience telling him not to enter his son's room without announcing himself first. 
     “Uh, yeah Dad. Just stubbed my toe.”
     Stiles' didn't want his Dad to find out what had happened. It would only give him more reasons to yell at him for forgetting his medication. He jumped out of bed and fished out an old Macy's bag from behind his desk. As he lifted the turkey into the bag, an apple rolled out of the stuffing hole. He looked inside the bird and realised it was completely filled with apples.
     “Seriously. What the...!”
     He must have been having some really crazy dreams last night. He put both the frozen bird and the apples into the bag then snuck downstairs to throw them in the trash before his Dad saw.. 
    
    
    
    **The Second Day**
     Stiles loved the run up to Christmas. The actual day was pretty crappy usually. His Dad would drink to much, he and his cousins would get off their faces on sugar, and his aunt and uncle would get into a massive fight. This year he and his Dad were going to have dinner at the Hale house with everyone else and break in that massive dinning room, so perhaps it would be different. 
     The run up, though, was always guaranteed to be awesome. The films on TV, the decorations, the songs, he loved it all. Today he was going to meet up with the pack, go to the mall and buy all of their Christmas presents. Lydia had been done weeks ago, but she was coming along to uphold the schedule. Yes, there was a schedule. It was supposed to ensure that they didn't spend the entire time with the same person and had time to get everyone a present. Stiles gave it five minutes before it failed completely, that's if they paid any attention to it at all.
     He was nearly dressed and ready to go, running early for once in his life. Opening his sock drawer he reached in to grab a pair. Pain shot through his finger as something bit him. Withdrawing his hand quickly he found a terrapin attached to it. With a few flicks, he flung it off onto his bed.
     Carefully he regarded to amphibian lying on its back on his bed. It was covered in something. Feathers. Someone had stuck feathers all over it's shell, like a pillow had exploded over it. Had he done that in his sleep? He didn't even know where he'd get a terrapin from!
     What he did know was who might be able to take them off his hands. Dialing the number he waited for Dr Deaton to answer. 
     “Merry Christmas Stiles! I've not heard from you in a long time, how's college.” The vet's voice sounded strained.
     “Yeah, great. Listen. I don't suppose you can take care of a terrapin can you.”
     “Wait!” he shouted. “Oh my God, please tell me you have Larry and Moe?”
     “Who?”
     “Two of the three terrapins I'm treating for an eye infection. I came into work this morning and only Curley was in the tank. Why do you have them?”
     Two? Stile crossed back to his drawers and sure enough there was another one sitting amongst his tube socks, covered in feathers.
     “I have absolutely no idea. Probably someone's idea of a joke. I'll bring them over straight away.”
     “Thank you so much. I have been sweating buckets over here.”
     As soon as he said it was a joke, it rang true. This was too weird. What did he do, sleep drive to the sanctuary, break in, steal two terrapins and then drive back home again, still asleep? No. It was Scott playing a prank. No, Erika. It was more her style. He found a shoe box and, carefully, put Larry and Moe inside. He could swing by the animal shelter and still be at the mall with time to spare.
    
    
    
    **The Third Day**
     It had never been funny to begin with. Now it was getting to be annoying. Stiles stormed into the Hale house where everyone had come to help paint the newly plastered walls.
     “Okay,” he announced to the room. “Which one of you is it? I mean it this time!”
     Yesterday, when he'd confronted Erika she'd laughed at him. If it was her then she was doing a good job of hiding it. No one else knew what he was talking about either. He was now suspecting a grand conspiracy.
     “What am I supposed to have done now?” Erika asked, smiling a little too much.
     “This morning I woke up and there were not one, not two but _three_ chickens in my room and you know what, that's not the weirdest part. One of you sick, twisted individuals had glued berets to their heads. Chickens. With berets. _On their heads!_ What. The. Hell.”
     There was a moment of stunned silence before everyone started laughing. He'd been expecting it but it only made Stiles' anger grow.
     “I'm not kidding. It's not funny any more. How long is this going to go on for? Huh?”
     “The nine days until Christmas, I should imagine,” said Lydia.
     Stiles swung on her. It didn't quite seem her style. Leaving livestock in a person's room seemed a little too crass for her, she'd be far more devious. Lydia realised that everyone was staring at her. 
     “Well isn't it obvious? Chickens with berets? What, do you need? A garland of onions and a baguette? They're Three French Hens.”
     Allison gasped as she got the joke Stiles was still missing.
     “Terrapins with feathers on. They were the turtle doves!”
     “What... like the twelve days of Christmas?” said Scott. Stiles could not believe that Scott, the clueless dumbass, had had to be the one to spell it out for him.
     “So what was the turkey about then?” Stiles asked. “Don't see that fitting in with your fancy pants theory.”
     “Must be kinda hard to get partridges and pears in California this time of year,” Lydia said, positively brimming with joy at his pain. “A turkey stuffed with apples must be the closest they could get.”
     “Oh that is adorable,” said Derek. He was leaning against the wall and beaming at Stiles discomfort. “Stiles has got a creepy stalker.”
     Good as it was to see Derek smiling, he'd been looking a bit rough lately, Stiles did not like the fact that it was at his misery.
     “So what are we going to do about it?” he said, turning to the pack. “Stake out? Surveillance?”
     “I'd hold out 'til after tomorrow night,” said Lydia. “Might as well wait for the five gold rings.”
     They all started laughing again.
     “Shut up, this isn't funny!”
     “No,” said Isaac handing Stiles a paint roller. “It's hillarious. Let us know how the four calling birds work out for you. Now get to work.”
     Stiles stood in the centre of the room, wondering who he could hit with the roller first. Derek walked up behind him and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
     “Some creep is getting into my room every night and none of you seem to care!”
     “They're getting in because you sleep with the window open,” said Derek. “Don't worry about it Stiles. Just make sure you lock up tonight and they won't be able to get in again.”
     “And if he does?”
     “Then we'll come over and help you out.”
    
    
    
    **The Fourth Day**
     “Good morning. Good morning. _Squawk_.Good morning.”
     Stiles was expecting to wake up to it this morning. He could hear the click of their beaks as they spoke. Opening his eyes he saw the parrot sat on the back of his chair, looking at him with its beady black eye. It made a strange trilling noise. Like a cell phone ringtone.
     “Good morning to you too. DAD!”
     The bird bobbed its head at him, repeating the phrase a few more times. That one was the proper red, pirate parrot. Hanging off his curtains was a green one, another similarly coloured one was scratching away at his desk. He couldn't find the other one for a second until a blue and yellow macaw fluttered down and landed on his knee.
     “Hello Stiles. _Squawk._ Roses are red. Roses are red. Hello Stiles.”
     He knew he shouldn't have, but he couldn't help smiling at that. Someone had been trying to teach it a poem, but all the bird had managed was the first line and his name. It was unaccountably creepy but made him fall for the bird instantly. He scratched the bird on the head. It closed its eyes and trilled in contentment.
     “Stiles. I love you. Stiles.”
     His Dad burst through the door with his gun drawn. Taking in the scene he lowered it and despaired.
     “You really have no idea who's doing this?”
     Stiles shook his head. The bird was biting down on his finger. It didn't hurt but it seemed to be having a lot of fun.
     “I'll call the vet. He can come take them away. We'll try and find out if anyone's had four parrot's stolen in the last few days.”
     From behind him came the sound of tearing as one of the greens ripped apart his curtains. Stiles held out his arm and the blue bird stepped up onto it.
     “Do we have to give all of them back?”
     His father looked from his son, to the parrot on his arm and back again.
     “For the love of... Look. Both the turtles and the chickens were stolen. These probably were as well. We'll send them over to Deaton and if, that's a big _if_ it's not stolen... well we'll talk about it after Christmas.”
     “Thanks Dad,” Stiles said, rubbing the bird under its chin.
     “Thanks Dad. _Squawk!_ ”
     Even the Sheriff couldn't keep from smiling at that.
     “See! Guybrush likes you Dad.”
     “He's already named it. Good grief,” said his Dad.
     “ _Squawk!_ Good grief, Guybrush. _Squawk!_ ”
    
    
    
    **The Fifth Day**
     Of course it would be the day that would actually have some value that his stalker chooses to flake out on. He'd woken all excited for his five gold rings and found precisely diddley. 
     “Don't worry man, I'm sure they'll be back on form tomorrow,” said Scott as they waited for the next round of Tekken to load.
     It was probably just as well. The parrots had been stolen from a pet shop one town over. They'd even traced the turkey to a grab and dash out of a delivery truck at Safeway. Stiles' didn't think he could cope with knowing five people had had their wedding rings stolen because of him.
     “I hope not. Tomorrow is six geese-a-laying. I've got enough bird droppings in my room already. Seriously. What is it with all the birds in that song?”
     The game announcer counted down the fight and they began to furiously mash the keys. Werewolf speed or not, Scott couldn't match the skill Stiles' had honed from countless hours lost to this game. He had mad controller skills and was just giving his friend the final uppercut when the door bell rang.
     “Delivery for Stiles Stilinski,” the UPS guy said handing over a box wrapped in brown paper. Stiles had torn of the wrapping before he was even back to the couch. The box rattled seductively as he picked it up.
     “What do you reckon?” he asked, trying to analyse the sound. “Smell anything.”
     Scott took a sniff and shook his head.
     “Open it!” Scott urged him on.
     Stiles carefully took off the lid, slightly scared by what might be inside. The other days had all been a bit... off. He was worried what he might be getting this time. Looking inside the box he saw what appeared to be: the holding loops of a ring binder and a curtain hoop both spray painted gold; a brass ring about an inch or two in diameter; and a black ring box. Immediately he went to the leather case and looked at it. He opened it up finding a split ring with a single square diamond held in place between the two edges. It was beautiful. On the lid was a pawn broker's label.
     “Woah,” said Scott. “They're getting serious.”
     Immediately he called the dealer. If it was stolen, he was going to return it now before greed made it's insidious way into his mind and he ended up on an even lower plane of hell than he was currently destined for. The owner answered and Stiles explained before reading out the number on the label.
     “Oh yeah. I know that ring. No, you're okay. It was bought yesterday at 1am.”
     “You're open at 1am?”
     “Of course! Peak business hours.” The man took on a wistful tone. “Nice piece that one, would have kept it for my own girl if it hadn't been a guy's ring. Got it for peanuts. Guy comes in, says he's found his boyfriend cheating on him and want the bastard to pay. He purposefully sold it to me for a quarter of what it's worth out of revenge! Sorry to tell you I sold it for full price.”
     “That's great, it is your job after all but what I really need to know was who bought it last night.”
     “Sorry kid,” the dealer said. “I can't let that kind of information go without a warrant. Confidentiality.”
     “But you just told me all about who sold it to you!” Stiles threw himself back onto the couch with a flurry of despair.
     “But I didn't give you a name did I? I ain't even got that for your stalker. I maybe have some CCTV shots, but no way in hell you getting that. Let me tell you this though kid, if I had a stalker buying me thousands of dollars of jewellery I would let them do what ever they wanted.”
     Stiles hung up and looked at the ring in the box. Out of curiosity he slid it onto his left ring finger. It fit perfectly. It looked right on his finger.
     “So, does that mean you have to marry your stalker now?” Scott said looking at it.
     Stiles pulled the ring back off and put it away. He'd worry about what to do with that later, instead turning his attention to the other contents of the box. The diamond ring was one, the ring binder was another two, the curtain hoop was four and the weird brass ring was the fifth. He picked up the brass ring. It was one smooth loop or metal with no obvious joining marks.
     “What even is this from?” Stiles said turning it over his hand. Scott sniggered. “What? Do you know, don't leave me hanging.”
     “Umm,” Scott said, biting his lower lip. “I can't be sure, I've never actually used one or even seen one in real life but...”
     “Spit it out man!”
     “I'm pretty sure that's a cock ring.”
     Stiles looked at the metal hoop in his hands for a second before throwing it back in the box like it was covered in maggots. Whatever points Mr or Mrs Stalker had won with ring they had just lost with that.
    
    
    
    **The Sixth Day**
     Geese, it turns out, are really freaking terrifying. Stiles' had to sneak out the window to let animal control in the door because neither he nor his father was about to go downstairs and face a hallway of angry geese. Luckily there wasn't enough room for them to fly and climbing stairs is quite difficult when you legs are three inches shorter than the step. Instead Stiles and his father spent the two hours waiting for help to show up hiding upstairs, listening to the stupid birds break everything in the living room, wondering if 'wild bird attack' was covered by contents insurance.
    
    
    
    **The Seventh Day**
     “How the hell did we not hear them being put in here!”
     The honking of seven swans trapped in a bathroom had woken them up at 5am. Having spent most of the day cleaning goose crap (which was a substance designed by Satan) off of the upholstery Stiles' father was not best pleased.
     “That's it,” said his Dad. “Tonight I am putting a stakeout detail on this house. Are you sure it's not one of your friends. This isn't some werewolf pack hazing thing?”
     “I don't think so,” Stiles said diving out the way of a rampant swan. “They all find it hilarious but unless it's some grand conspiracy I don't think this is them.”
     His father chased a rogue swan into the spare room, quickly shutting the door to trap it in.
     “Well I am going to catch who ever is doing this and if it turns out that it _is_ one of them I am going to come down twice as hard on their ass for wasting my time.”
     Why did his Dad treat Stiles like this was his fault! It wasn't like he wanted to be accosted by a room full of mute swans (who, by the way, have the most misleading name ever!) but it was somehow his fault that he'd attracted the attention of the world's most obscure stalker. He never should have tried to buff himself up at the gym. It was a very stupid thing to do, but there were only so many years you could spend around Scott, Jackson, Boyd, Isaac and DEREK FREAKING HALE before you felt compelled to do something about your weedy arms.
     The phone rang and his Dad answered.
     “Stilinski residence... oh hello Mrs Jones... no, no. I promise you, this is not my son's doing... Yes I know animal cruelty is a serious crime... yes... yes... I appreciate you are the head of PETA in Beacon Hills but... we are trying... Mrs Jones... Mrs Jones...”
     His father shot Stiles a murderous glance. Whoever was doing this wasn't gong to get arrested. They were going to vanish. He was the Sheriff. He knew where to hide the bodies.
    
    
    
    
    **The Eighth Day**
     Stiles had found it hard to sleep that night, and not just because Scott was staying over to help keep lookout and hogged the covers. He kept starting at every sound, waiting for a ghostly mooing to start lowing out over the night. They'd made sure that every window, door and vent into the house was closed locked and bolted. There was a police cruiser outside keeping watch all night. Scott's wolf instincts would wake him the instant anyone unsavoury came towards the house. There was no way that the present giver was going to get into the house that night.
     And they didn't.
     When Stiles woke up that morning there were no cows in his house or in his garden. There were no maids milking them. Maybe, just maybe, the sight of the cruiser had made them realise what a nut job they were being and scared them off. Stiles felt a twinge of apprehension. As much as he was freaked out by the whole thing he would have liked to have known who it was. If only so he could avoid seeing them again. Like, ever.
     “You sure you don't smell any thing?” Stiles asked for the hundredth time. He'd had the whole pack round to try and see if they could scent the mystery person.
     “No. I told you, all I smell is bird and cleaning product.”
     “Hmm... maybe they're cleverer than I thought.”
     Allison had stopped by for breakfast that morning as well. Stiles had stolen her boyfriend for one night, she wasn't about to let him steal Scott away for another day as well. Not that Stiles minded. She'd calmed down a lot in recent years. It had been months since he'd seen her try to shoot anyone with a compound bow.
     “Why do we keep saying they?” she asked. 
     “What do you mean?” Stiles said through a mouthful of pancake.
     “Why do we keep saying 'maybe they're clever', 'who are they'. We don't say 'she'. If this had been happening to Scott or Derek then everyone would automatically assume it was a woman, but not for Stiles?”
     Stiles shared a clandestine look with Scott. He hadn't told her. At college, Stiles had had dalliances with both men and women, but the only person who knew that was Scott. Because he was open to either sex, he hadn't thought that it might be one or the other. He'd started saying 'they' unconsciously and now was really not the time to be having this conversation with his best friend's girlfriend.
     “I guess it's my pretty boy looks,” Stiles said. He leant back and flexed his muscles. Next to Scott he still looked like a bean pole, but he was getting there. At least Derek wasn't there. There was no better way to feel emasculated then to stand next to that wall of man muscle.
     His Dad walked in fastening his gun belt on.
     “The car outside said they didn't see anyone coming up to the house all night,” he announced. “Looks like we may be in the clear. I'll see you boys la... OH FOR THE LOVE OF CRAP!”
     The three of them turned to see the Sheriff standing in front of the open back door. He picked something up off the floor and turned to show them. In his hand was a gallon of milk with the colourful logo on the side of a merry maid, milking away at her cow.
     “Let me guess,” Stiles said sinking back down into his chair. “There are another seven cartons out there as well?”
    
    
    
    **The Ninth Day**
     That night the whole pack was stationed around the house. They took it in shifts to patrol and watch every corner of the house. Despite being exhausted Stiles barely slept. He'd managed to doze off on the couch a little while Isaac was there but it was only when Derek was on duty in his room that he finally went to bed. The werewolf had informed him he looked like crap and wouldn't be of any use to anyone if he was sleep deprived for the next four nights. Stiles slept well and woke up to find Derek passed out on his watch. The man had looked so peaceful Stiles nearly felt bad for throwing a pillow at him and yelling at him for falling asleep on his watch.
     “Oh shut up lover boy,” Derek had snapped back.
     “Excuse me, what did you just call me?”
     Derek stuck out his jaw in exasperation. He had dark rings under his eyes, telling Stiles' that Derek's night had mostly been sleepless.
     “On the first day of Christmas my _true love_ gave to me,” he said. “From the song. Whoever's doing this thinks that they are your true love.”
     Stiles was beginning to get really, really freaked out now. At first it had been funny. Not to him, obviously, he'd thought it was annoying and immature, but he could see how objectively it might be funny. Now it was getting weird. How was this person getting into his house?
     “Stiles, are you shaking?”
     Derek crossed the room and sat next to Stiles on the bed. He put a hand firmly on to top of Stiles' arms. It was a strange gesture, not a hug or comforting arm. Derek was holding him down, as if trying to physically stop the vibrations of his body. It was working, too.
     “This whole thing... it's got me worried you know. I'm wondering what happens when they get all the way to day twelve.”
     “We've got your back, don't worry.”
     Stiles breathed out deeply. Derek was right. He had an entire pack of werewolves, a hunter and Lydia Martin, resident witch genius, on his side. He'd be okay. It was all going to be fine. Raising his own hand, he patted Derek's fingers on his arm. Derek's attention went to the contact, looking at his hands as if he'd forgotten how they had got there.
     “Hey, you alright there?” Stiles asked him. 
     Derek nodded, blinked, then slowly took his hands off of Stiles shoulders.
     “Yeah. It's just... it's nothing.” Derek carried on looking at the spot of Stiles' arm that he'd just been touching. He stood up without warning. “I've got to go.”
     He went to the window and slid it open. Stiles wondered, sometimes, what the neighbours must think of all these men jumping out of his window all the time. About to jump out, Derek stopped, looking at street below. Raising a finger he moved it backwards and forwards over the scene. Counting.
     “Oh no.”
     Stiles shoved Derek out of the way of the window in time to hear the start.
     “Ready! Okay! Gimmie an S! Gimmie a T! Gimmie and I L E S! What's that spell!”
     What followed was the most cringe worthy experience that Stiles had ever experienced. He didn't have to see Derek grinning beside him to know that he was. It was so beaming that he could see by the glare off of Derek's pearly whites. Below nine members of the Beacon Hills cheer leading squad were leaping, kicking and chanting his name over and over again. All down the street people were leaning out their windows to watch. Cars were pulling up to see what was going on. Oh god. His Dad was one of them. He was never going to live this down. Ever.
     The second that the girl on the top of the pyramid had shouted 'gooooooo STILES!', finishing the routine, Stiles was running down the stairs. Still dressed in the boxers and t-shirt he slept in, he marched up to the sixteen year old girl in the short, short skirt.
     “Who put you up to this? Hmm? Who? Who?”
     “Lemme guess?” said the head cheerleader. Blonde, slightly evil look about her, two hench women moving in behind, the classic. “You must be Stiles?”
     “Yup, that's me. But again, who put you up to this?”
     The evil cheerleader was obviously loving this.
     “I'm sorry. Client-cheerleader confidentiality.”
     “Too bad,” said Derek, appearing behind Stiles. He stretched his hands up over his head behind his back, making the fabric of his wife beater go tight against his chest. The cheerleader's eyes went glassy for a moment. “I'd be really grateful to whoever could help out my friend here.”
     One of the hench women pushed the ring leader out the way in her rush to get forward.
     “Hi! I'm Briony. I'm the treasurer of the squad.” Oh god! She was actually curling her pony tail around her finger as she looked up at Derek. “We got an e-mail about a week ago asking if we could do a special request cheer at this address, at this time and date to someone called Stiles.”
     Derek flashed his trademark smile that would make grown, straight men fall straight to their knees and start scrabbling at the man's flies. The sick bastard. She was ten years younger than him.
     “Isn't it the Christmas break though? Shouldn't you guys all be out of school?”
     “Yeah,” she said. Her voice was breathy and dreamy. “But the guy paid us $1000 dollars to do it and the squad needs new uniforms so...”
     She trailed off. She appeared to be lost somewhere in Derek's eyes.
     “Thank you Briony,” said Derek. He took her hand and gave it a chivalrous kiss, all the while looking deep into her eyes. Sixteen! Derek was, what, thirty! Near as damn it, Stiles thought. He should not be flirting with teenage girls.
     “Wait,” Stiles said, some part of his brain processing the new information. “Guy. It was a guy. You sure it was a guy?”
     “No,” said the other hench woman, regarding Briony with disgust. “It's guy as in generic person. They paid in cash, dropped straight into her mail box. I though it was a bit weird, but $1000 dollars is $1000 dollars. If it means I don't have to wash cars in a bikini next year, bring it on!”
     One of the other girls grabbed Briony, dragging her away from making goo goo eyes at Derek and they made their way to the cars parked up on the road side. Stiles looked at Derek as he waved after the smitten young teen.
     “You sicken me.”
     “And who did I learn that trick from?” said Derek, still waving. “I can't help it if everyone loves your cousin Miguel.”
    
    
    
    **The Tenth Day**
     Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Stiles should have been running around trying to find the last of his presents. He should be getting sick on candy canes and gingerbread. There was an actual gallon on eggnog sitting in the fridge, waiting to be drunk. Instead he was trying to chase a bunch of bullfrogs with teeny, tiny crowns glued to their heads out of the house while his Dad was trying to calm down the PETA representative who was screaming at him about animal cruelty again.
     He was now in full freak out mode. The place had been locked up like Fort Knox, so the stalker had prised open the vent in the bathroom window and fed ten fat frogs through the hole. Luckily the rest of the pack didn't think this was a joke any more. Isaac had come round with Scott shortly after his high pitched, panicked voicemail to Scott. 
     “Derek says you're staying at ours tonight,” Isaac told him. Stiles knew it wasn't a choice, but to be honest he didn't care. Even if the stalker knew where he was going there were probably few safer places in the world to stay than in a house of friendly werewolves.
    
     *****
    
    
    Isaac and Boyd already lived with Derek, so naturally Erika spent most of her nights there with Boyd, and Scott's Mom had to work so he came over which meant Allison stayed because her Dad was away on a job anyway. When Lydia found out she refused to miss out on the fun and dragged Jackson along with her. There were a bunch of spare bedrooms but most of them didn't have beds yet, just air mattresses so they all bunked down in sleeping bags. It was like they were 12 again, having a slumber party.
     They sat up all night watching Christmas movies and Stiles finally managed to make himself sick on gingerbread and candy canes. Allison brought out a Monopoly board claiming it was a tradition in her family and the pack was her new family and everyone had felt so guilt tripped that they agreed to play. After 3 hours the game had become less about trying to win, and more about trying to cheat in the most flagrant manner possible. Allison always took to much money from the bank, Boyd never moved the right number of steps and Jackson was just outright stealing people's properties from under their noses when they weren't watching.
     “Possession in nine tenths. Suck it, Hale!”
     That was the point Derek decided that this was a counter productive exercise and they all needed to go to bed before he got a little bit 'throat happy with his teeth'. His grumpy bad mood of late was beginning to turn into full on Grinch.
     Stiles was sharing a room with Scott and Allison. They'd decided it was best for him to bunk in with someone to watch over him. Unfortunately Scott and Allison didn't seem very intent on watching over anyone except each other.
     “Shh...” Allison was giggling in a drunken hush that only made her voice all the more obvious. “He'll hear us!”
     “No he won't,” said Scott. “Look. He's got his sleeping bag over his head. He's asleep.”
     “No he's not,” Allison said. She didn't seem to be stopping though.
     “Yeah, he is,” said Scott.
     “No. He is not.” Stiles said, cramming the covers down tighter over his head.
     “See,” Allison said. There was the sound of a fly being unzipped.
     “Okay,” Stiles said, leaping up. He gathered up his sleeping bag and mattress and began to walk out the room. “Love you guys, but if I have to listen to you having sex I want there to at least be a wall in the way. You kids have a good time.”
     They hadn't even come up for air. Allison winked at him, face still attached to Scott's. This had been her plan all along, the minx.
     There was an empty room just down the hall. When he walked past Derek's room he could here the alpha grunting in his sleep. Was that normal? Should he check on him? 
     “Derek, are you alright?” he whispered leaning against the door but was only answered with a sleepy growl.
     He decided that waking up a sleeping Derek when the house wasn't actually on fire again was probably pretty high on the list of bad ideas. If Derek was having trouble sleeping it would explain his bad mood. The dark rings under Derek's eyes hadn't gone away after he'd finished his watch duty, Stiles' realised. He made a mental note to give Derek some of the herbal pills he took when his ADHD kicked in.
     He bedded down in the empty room and was quickly off to sleep, feeling completely safe again for the first time in over a week.
    
    
    
    **The Eleventh Day**
     Stiles used his sleeping bag like a blanket. He kicked too much and liked to sleep like a starfish, so using it in the normal way was out. It did mean that sometimes he rolled over in the night and a draft of air would hit him and wake him. Like now. Only this time it wasn't him rolling over that was throwing the covers off. It was someone trying to climb in his bed!
     Letting out a girly scream he kicked out and struck at his assailant. It was his stalker! He'd let himself get lulled into a false security. His foot connected with his stalker's head and he heard them stagger back. Scrabbling around he found the only light source he knew of. His phone. He activated the screen and turned it on his attacker, determined to learn who was doing this too him.
     “ _Derek?_ ”
     The pack leader was sitting slumped in the middle of the floor, clutching his head and looking like he'd only just woken up. Derek? Freaking Derek? That didn't make sense. Stupid pranks were _definitly_ not Derek's style. 
     “What the hell are you doing trying to climb into my bed?”
     “I was not,” Derek said staggering up.
     “Yes! Yes, you were.”
     “I don't even know how I got here, why would I want to climb into bed with you?”
     The door crashed open, giving Boyd, Erika and Isaac just enough time to hear the last sentence. They looked at the tableau in front of them. Both Derek and Stiles were in their boxers, Derek was shirtless and Stiles had his sleeping bag clutched to his chest in an effort to preserve his modesty. Isaac raised an eyebrow.
     “I swear to God!” Derek said, checking where Stiles had hit him for blood. “I went to bed, in my own room. The next thing I know I wake up in here!”
     “So what, you were sleep walking?” asked Boyd. There was a hint of amusement there. “Into Stiles' bed?”
     “I didn't even know he was in here!” Derek shouted. He turned on Stiles angrily. “You're supposed to be in with Scott and Allison.”
     “Yeah, because I want to listen to them screwing four feet away from where I'm trying to sleep!” he snapped back. He took a deep breath in through his nose to try and calm himself. He stopped half way through. He sniffed again, this time smelling the air.
     “Do you guys... do you smell weed?”
     The four werewolves instantly turned to the corridor. How had he noticed it before they had? The stench was worse than his dorms back in his first year of college. They followed it downstairs. By now the others had all woken up as well, joining the party as they went into the living room.
     Sat on every surface of the room were some of the dirtiest hippies any of them had ever seen. In their hands every single one of them was holding a bong or a joint or a...
     “Eleven pipers piping.”
     As soon as Lydia had said it, Stiles felt his heart begin to contract. He was not having a panic attack. He was not. He wouldn't let himself have a panic attack. Breath deeply. Breath. That was helping actually. A lot. Wow, they were really smoking some strong stuff.
     “What they hell are you doing in my house!” Derek said. He stepped forward, putting himself between Stiles and the stoners.
     “Duuuuuuuude,” one of them said pointing at Derek with his pipe. “It's the hash fairy man!”
     They all went quiet for a minute. Stiles held his breath waiting for Derek to start hitting someone.
     “What did you just call me?”
     “Derek man, what harshed your buzz?”
     “I have never met you before in my life. How do you know my name?” Derek spoke carefully and deliberately, his rage coming across in every sylable.
     “You came to the commune,” said a woman with scarves woven into her hair.“You said you needed eleven of us. We are creating harmony and oneness in your environment.”
     She reached out and rested a hand on Derek's leg. He looked at it like he wanted to bite it off. 
     “I'm telling you man,” said the first hippy, “you looked more bombed than I have ever seen anyone. You were practically asleep. You gave us, like, a pound of hash and told us to follow. Here we are man, just like you said.”
     The pack turned to look at Derek. His eyes were frozen in place.
     “So, Derek brought you here?” Stiles said slowly. “Derek, who has been sleepwalking, brought eleven pipers to pipe in the house where I am staying. Derek is my creepy twelve days of Christmas stalker?”
     Even as he said it, knowing it was true, it didn't make any sense. Sleepwalking aside, why would Derek start giving gifts to Derek. They looked at each other, both equally at a loss.
     “Must be your true love,” Erika said with an awkward shrug, trying to make the best of the very, very embarrassing situation by making it even more embarrassing.
     Simultaneously Allison and Lydia made the same high pitched squeak and slapped there hands over their mouths. Derek spun on them both, finally resting on Lydia. She was always the ring leader. Not the mention the witch.
     “What did you do?”
     “It was just supposed to be a joke,” she said. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to look confident. “I never thought it would actually...”
     The room went black as the lights cut out.
     “A power cut? Now?”
     “Sorry dude,” came a blissed-out voiced from the kitchen. “Was trying to make some toast...”
     “Must have blown a fuse!” said Lydia brightly
     She was very happy for the out. It was pitch black, the only light coming from the stars outside and the red glowing cherries of a few joints. Lydia's face lit up from the light of her phone before she used it to search the room by. There was a torch in here some... aha!
     Turning it on, she made her way to the basement where the fuse box was. A couple of the others followed on behind, stumbling and swearing in the darkness. One of them, probably Scott, fell down the stairs, but managed to land in roll. Idiot. She opened up the box in the corner and looked at the mass of switches inside.
     “Huh, that's weird,” she said flicking back the tripped fuse.
     “What?” Jackson said shielding his eyes as the lights came back on.
     Her finger was still on the switch. _Master bedroom._ Not the kitchen. Lydia looked up the stairs, wearing her curious face.
     “Get the step ladder,” she said as she grabbed the tool box and ran up the stairs, her entourage following on behind.
     From the hallway they could hear Derek yelling at the hippies to get out. At first they refused, until he roared at them. He must have shifted, because they were screaming. Hopefully they'd just blame it on the drugs. 
     Lydia went into Derek's room and set up the ladder up under the main light, then prised the fitting away from the wall.
     “What are you doing?” Isaac shrieked. “This is my house as well that you're destroying.”
     “I've got a theory,” she said.
     The light fitting wasn't attached to the ceiling any more but was still refusing to come away. She handed her torch to Allison to hold and gave it a good yank. When it came away it brought down a thick mass of mistletoe with it. There were huge, thick tendrils of the stuff, wound into the wires and still reaching out from the hole in the ceiling.
     “What the hell?” said Boyd.
     “Gimme the hammer,” Lydia said.
     She stuck the claws of it into the hole and started to tear the ceiling open, plaster board falling in chunks. Isaac continued to protest but everyone else just watched in shock as she pulled more and more mistletoe out of the ceiling.
     “Oh. My. God.” said Allison. “You put that spell on all the wood they used for the rafters!”
     “Yep. For protection, long life and vitality.”
     The hole was big enough for Lydia to stand on the top rung and poke her head through. She took back the torch and looked around in the space. There was masses of the stuff! It was growing outwards, but mostly in one direction. The direction of the room Stiles had spent last night in. But that would be fine, wouldn't it? Stiles had only slept there for one night. It couldn't have had that much of an effect.
     Lydia crouched down.
     “Where are Stiles and Derek?”
     They ran downstairs into the living room, skidding into a pile up the second they got there.
     Standing in the middle of the room with their arms wrapped around each other were Derek and Stiles. Kissing. Not just any kissing. The real kind, with tongues that grind against each other like they were trying to taste every corner of each other. The word 'ravishing' came to mind. Derek was holding their heads together, twisting Stiles to get a better angle, while Stiles himself was running his hands down Derek's back and squeezing his ass.
     “DUDE!”
     It was Scott to break the moment.
     The two of them started, breaking the kiss without stepping backwards. They looked at each other in confusion.
     “Weren't we just in the kitchen?” said Derek
     “I have no idea how we got here,” Stiles said shaking his head.
     “ _That_ is the issue you two are worrying about?” Scott looked like he was having his own panic attack.
     The pair stepped back, regarding each other cautiously as they unwound their limbs from each other. Derek turned to point at Lydia.
     “Explain.”
     “Me and Allison put mistletoe and mugwort in your ceiling.”
     She spoke clearly and without shame. Allison looked like she'd just been sold out by the police.
     “Why?” asked Derek. He didn't seem angry. If anything he seemed a bit sleepy, like he'd just woken up.
     “It's supposed to make you dream of your true love. Like the song. It just... went a bit haywire is all.”
     “I guess Stiles really is your true love then,” Erika said. She, Boyd and Isaac were pursing their lips to keep from laughing.
     “You, show me,” he said to Lydia. He slammed his three betas against the wall as he passed. “You, shut the hell up.”
     They marched back up to the room to look at the mass of mistletoe now hanging from the ceiling.
     “See,” said Lydia. “It was just supposed to sit there and make you dream nice dreams. Instead it went a little rogue.”
     “STILES!”
     Scott shouted so loud this time that Derek and Stiles jumped, separating themselves from each other's lips.
     “I don't know how this is happening!” said Stiles.
     “Fix it Lydia,” Derek said, rubbing his fists into the sides of his head as he stepped forward putting physical space between himself and Stiles in an effort to break the spells influence. “Get every last leaf and berry of that stuff out of my roof and burn it, purify it, incant over it whatever it is you have to do to stop this. Once your done with that, you can clean up this mess.”
     Lydia nodded sheepishly. It only took a few quick yanks to get it out of the roof, it hadn't attached itself to anything too solidly up there. With the help of the others she gathered it up and moved towards the door.
     “Uh... guys?”
     Derek and Stiles looked at her, then followed her gaze to where Stiles had his hand in Derek's back pocket, while Derek's arm was curved around the younger man's waist. They lifted their hands sharply and stepped away from each other.
     “I'll go stand in a different room now,” said Stiles.
     “I think that would be a good idea,” said Derek.
    
     *****
    
    
    They managed to get the bonfire burning and they all gathered around to watch. It was like a funeral. They'd doused it with gasoline and the whole pile had gone up in a ball of purple fire and was now crackling away with sparks of lavender and green. They reflected in Derek's eyes as he started fixatedly into the fire.
     Stiles looked back to the fire, only the fire, solely the fire. He was not looking at Derek, not at all.
     “You sure this will fix it?” Derek said.
     “Yes,” said Lydia. “I made sure we got it all and this kind of enchantment wears off when you destroy the talisman, which in this case is the mistletoe.”
     “Positive?”
     “Positive.”
     He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and carried on staring. He sniffed, nostrils flaring as the smoke irritated his nose. Stop looking Stiles! There's no magic spell. You're just being a creeper right now.
     “Boring,” announced Erika as she turned on her heel and went inside. Boyd and Isaac followed after her.
     “I suppose I better start clearing up the bedroom,” said Lydia. She gave Stiles a sly look. Her swift exit was a calculated move and she wanted him to take advantage of it. She started to go with Allison, before stopping with a stamped foot.
     “Jackson!”
     He gave an exasperated sigh and went to his doom.
     He needed to talk to Derek. This was a good thing. Terrifying, but necessary. He tried to catch Scott's eye and give him the universal eye roll of 'go over there now'. Scott frowned. Oh for the love of... Stiles gave a full on head roll, but still to no avail. He flicked his head and pointed and eventually it dawned on his utterly clueless friend. Scott mouthed an 'oh' then left without even feigning an excuse.
     Stiles and Derek stood by the purple flames for a bit longer, the silence stretching out longer and longer. It was Derek that eventually broke it.
     “Sorry. For everything.”
     “Don't worry about it,” Stiles said. “It wasn't your fault. You were under Lydia's true l... spell. You didn't know what you were doing.”
     “I should have... I should have guessed sooner.” Derek was having to fight the words to make them come out.
     “What? That someone had put magic mistletoe in your ceiling that made you sleepwalk, steal and... order cheerleaders online?”
     Despite knowing that was exactly what had happened it still didn't make sense in Stiles' head. Why him?
     “I know that. But I... it doesn't matter. I'm still sorry.”
     “An apology out of Derek Hale, I do feel blessed.” Stiles was bouncing on his heels, bending his body backwards and forwards, needing to be constantly moving. “Hey, you're a pretty decent kisser, so it wasn't all bad.”
     Stiles physically cringed as soon as he'd said it, turning away to hide his shame. This, _this_ , was why he took medication. Derek straightened his back and stood perfectly still. How did people do that? Stiles felt like he'd explode if he didn't move some part of his body. Derek's eyes temporarily flicked away from the fire.
     “Thanks,” said Derek. “You're not so bad yourself.”
     Stiles looked at Derek. What was that supposed to mean? His face was unreadable, blank with a slight hint of anger as he looked into the fire, focus firmly back dead forward.
     They stood side by side without talking until Stiles couldn't take it any more. He didn't know what to say. What was there to say? What did he even want to say?
    _'Let's forget all about this and only bring it out in five years as a funny story. Remember that time Derek showered Stiles with weird presents in his sleep, wasn't that hillarious.'_
    _'It's fine. Spell gone awry happens to everyone once in a while.'_
    _'Take me now you beast of a man and ravage me by the light of the oil barrel fire.'_
     Even thinking the words sent his blood barrelling in a southerly direction. Stiles crossed his arms around his chest and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. What was he trying to do? Shake it out? Best to leave before he said something he regretted.
     “I'm glad we got this sorted out,” he said. “I'll see you at dinner.”
     He started striding back to the house.
     “I should have known because I can remember dreaming about you,” Derek said.
     Stiles' body swooped back towards Derek, his legs following a few seconds later.
     “Sorry, what was that?”
     Derek's teeth were clenched together as he spoke, making him force the words out between them. 
     “I remember the dreams. I don't know anything about the other stuff, but I can remember the dreams.”
     Stiles looked back to the house, pressing his lips between his teeth. He couldn't see anyone at the window but he knew they were all listening in. It was what he would have done. But he had to know. He'd hate himself for his curiosity later, but right now he had to know.
     “So umm... what kind of dreams were they?”
     Derek closed his eyes and hung his head.
     “You know what kind of dreams they were.”
     “The uh, the sexy kind?”
     “Yes, Stiles! That kind!”
     Stiles tried very hard not to, but he could tell that he could feel his cheeks aching from stopping himself smiling. Derek mean while looked like he was in physical pain.
     “And you, um, you didn't think that was weird? You know, having sexy dreams about me?”
     Derek mumbled something Stiles couldn't make out.
     “What was that?”
     “I said,” Derek threw his head back to look at the sky, “because it wasn't the first time.”
     Stiles pulled himself up straight.
     “You've had sexy dreams about me?”
     “Yes! It happens sometimes. Your smell gets everywhere. It's a subconscious thing.”
     He was lying. Stiles didn't need to be able hear his heartbeat to know that. Scott had never mentioned werewolf induced sex fantasies though. That would definitely be a side effect from lycanthropy Scott would tell him about.
     “Derek Hale is having sexy dreams about me. No one has sexy dreams about me. _I_ don't have sexy dreams about me.”
     “Stop saying sexy dreams!”
     Derek turned to face him mid cringe. Their eyes connected for an instant before they both looked away in unison. The odds had shifted now. Stiles needed to re-evaluate. 
     Oh what the hell! Might as well. What did he have to loose except his dignity, and he'd lost that long ago.
     “If it makes you feel any better I've had sexy dreams about you.” Stiles looked over this should sideways at Derek who was once more looking anywhere but at Stiles, though his eyes flickered when Stiles let slip that nugget of information.
     “You have?”
     “'Course. You're like a Greek god. Everyone has sexy dreams about you. Even Scott did once. I had to talk him through his crisis of sexuality at 4am one morning.”
     Stiles let his attention go back to the house for a second. Let them chew on that one for a bit, the dirty eavesdroppers. What he was surprised by was the look of hurt in Derek's eyes when he looked back.
     “Oh,” he said. “Good to know.”
     Derek's head hung like a kicked puppy. Stiles was finding it difficult not to throw his arms around him and tell him everything was alright. Derek started to go and Stiles realised that he really, really didn't want him to so he yelled out without thinking.
     “You really were a good kisser you know!”
     Oh god. They definitely heard that. Derek turned and looked him in the eyes. This time neither looked away.
     “You were too.”
     Stiles tried to look as relaxed as he could. No biggie, just asking, whatever, it's cool, only joking anyhow.
     “Wanna do it again sometime?”
     “God yes!”
     Stiles spasmed in happiness.
     “Yes! Awesome!”
     He didn't get to let out any more cries of delight because Derek was kissing him and anything that stopped Derek from kissing him was something he never, ever wanted to do again.
    
     *****
    
    
    “Told you so,” said Erika holding out her hand. “Before Christmas, I told you.”
     “Goddamn it!” Boyd said slapping a fistful of dollars into it. 
     “You knew?” Scott said.
     “Ahh, poor, poor little lost puppy Scott,” Isaac said putting an arm on his shoulder as they all stepped away from the window. “Did you know Stiles talks in his sleep? He even answers questions if you ask him nicely. Like when your on watch duty and you ask 'do you wanna bone my pack leader'. He gives really, _really_ , detailed answers too.”
     Scott cringed. If Stiles really did like Derek in that way he was thrilled for the two of them, but it was still Stiles and Derek. It was like, incest or something.
     “But Derek...”
     “Derek's been practically on heat around Stiles since he got all those sexy muscles,” said Erika, counting out her winnings. “Couldn't you smell it?”
     Scott had never been any good at scenting emotions on people. He was the best tracker in the pack after Derek, but the subtler aspects were a lost cause to him.
     “Well, I guess we better go actually clear up his room now,” said Lydia letting the curtain fall back into place. “They might need it later. Jackson! Get away from the window. Give them some privacy. Honestly...”
    
    *****
    
    
    No one saw either Derek or Stiles for most of the rest of the day. They dashed up stairs when no one was looking and there'd been a lot of arguing about eavesdropping with a glass against the wall but all they could hear was the odd laugh.
     “Is it physically possible to kiss for that long without your jaw locking out?” Boyd asked.
     Then they'd heard a moan and realised there were some things you didn't want to listen to your friends doing even if you were really happy they were doing them.
     After a while they heard motion in the corridor and when the pack went to investigate they found the shower occupied. They locked themselves in there for an hour and a half.
     “You've got to admire their stamina,” said Jackson as he headed to used to second bathroom.
     Eventually they went back to Derek's room, where they would probably have stayed all night if the house had not been rent by Lydia's all mighty scream. Everyone dashed out to find Lydia cowering and flailing at a mass of blue and yellow feathers.
     “Guybrush?” Stiles said.
     The bird swooped down across the hall, landing on his outstretched arm. The animal bobbed at him, rubbing his head against his chest.
     “I'm Guybrush Threpwood, a might parrot.”
     “I taught him that,” said Scott, looking very proud of himself.
     Stiles stroked the bird's chest.
     “But... what... how... who...”
     “Your Dad,” Derek said, leaning against the wall. He looked content down to his very marrow. “He said he found you researching 'how to look after parrots' online and decided to buy him for you. It was supposed to be a surprise so I said we'd keep him here. He's been cooped up in the closet so you wouldn't find him.”
     “I was trying to feed the stupid bird,” Lydia spat. She stood back up straight and fixed her hair. 
     “Speaking of feeding, the pizza just arrived,” Boyd called up the stairs.
     “Well are you two love birds coming or are you just going to lock yourself in your room forever until you starve and pass out in puddle of your own sickening cuteness?” Lydia fired at the two of them.
     They both smirked at each other, shrugging.
     “Sounds like a good plan,” Stiles said.
     “Get down there,” Lydia ordered.
     Derek put his arm around Stiles shoulder and gave Guybrush a scratch on the head.
     “ _Squawk!_ Hello Derek. Hello Stiles. I love you. Roses are red.”
     “Smart bird that,” Derek said brushing his lips against Stiles' ear. “I have excellent taste, stealing him from a pet shop for you.”
     Stiles gave Derek a playful shove and went to get his pepperoni.
    
     *****
    
    
    And that was that. Derek and Stiles were together now. They didn't talk about it, or go through who crushed on who first (it was Stiles) or what would happen when Stiles went back to college in the new year (he would cry). They just sat around the living room, ate pizza and carried on like normal, only now Derek sat on the floor, leaning back between Stiles' legs and nuzzling into his knee occasionally. Most of the attention was focused on Guybrush, trying to teach him different phrases and working out what he already knew. He really was a clever boy.
     Whilst finishing of his twelfth slice Stiles suddenly realised he hadn't called his Dad all day and ran to phone him. His father was working tonight so he could have Christmas Day off tomorrow, but he still felt he should tell him that the crisis was over. No need to worry about the stalker any more. He didn't see the need to mention his new... situation with Derek though. There'd be time for that later. Time when his Dad was no where near a rack of shotguns.
     He went back to find Derek had stolen his place on the sofa, so he planted himself in Derek's lap and getting Guybrush to sit on Derek's head.
     It was a touching scene, the ten of them gathered around together on Christmas Eve. 
     Lydia and Jackson huddled up under a blanket. Scott and Allison sharing a glass of eggnog. Erika and Boyd sprawled out in the armchair. Stiles and Derek arguing about whether to teach Guybrush to divebomb enemies on command.
     And then there was Isaac.
     It wasn't long before Derek and Stiles pretended to be tired and ran up stairs again, taking Guybrush with them, which was a little disturbing. Lydia and Jackson followed suit soon after. Scott had to help Allison up the stairs when the effects of the 'nog started loosening her inhibitions and her control over her legs. Erika and Boyd stayed up with their friend a little longer before their attempts to keep their hands off of each other annoyed Isaac and he sent them off to bed.
     By and large, being a werewolf was pretty awesome. He had a family, a family that he loved a little more than he had his real family. Sure they beat each other up all the time, but he wasn't locked in a chest freezer when they did.
     One of the big drawbacks of being a werewolf though was that when you shared a house with your psudo-family and they all started having sex, you could hear _everything_.
     It took precisely three minutes after Boyd and Erika going upstairs for Isaac to reach for his phone and dial.
     “Hey Danny,” he said when the other end picked up.
     “Isaac. Long time since I've had a booty call off of you.”
     Isaac smiled.
     “How do you know this is a booty call?”
     “Because it's 3am. On Christmas Eve. They all knocking boots again?”
     “Yeah. Even Derek this time.”
     “Damn. Must be hard.”
     “Not yet.”
     Danny rewarded Isaac with his sexy chuckle.
     “Alright already. Why not. Family is over though so we'll have to be quiet. You mind coming in the back way?”
     “That was kind of my intention with the booty call.”
     “Why do I find you funny when you're just a mass of clichéd innuendo?”
     “Because I'm a sexy mass of clichéd innuendo.”
     “True. Okay. How soon can you be here?”
     “Twenty minutes and I will be coming down your chimney.”
     “No there is an innuendo if ever I heard one. See you in twenty. Don't keep me waiting Santa.”
    
    
    
    **The Twelfth Day**
     The next morning Stiles was woken by Derek kissing the back of his neck, strong arms wrapped around his middle and the feeling of being so completely right in the world that he never wanted to move again. He'd been expecting it to be weird at first, it was Derek for the love of god, but it wasn't. Every time Derek put his arms around him, kissed him, let his hands roam across every inch f his body, it was like feeling completely safe for the first time in his life.
     “Merry Christmas,” Derek mumbled into his neck.
     “Merry Christmas,” Stiles said, twisting round to face him.
     “I could get used to his,” Derek said running his thumb along Stiles protruding lips. Stiles flicked out his tongue, coaxing the digit into his mouth. “You really are very beautiful, you know that?”
     “I've always thought so,” Stiles said with a crooked smile. 
     “I mean it,” Derek said. “You're beautiful. I could get lost in those big brown eyes sometimes.”
     Stiles had to close his big brown eyes at that, burying his face in Derek's neck.
     “Your not bad looking yourself,” he said, running a hand over Derek's rippling body.
     “I try,” he said into Stiles' hair as he held him close.
     “I dunno. I think you could try a little harder. I think there's a muscle here that could be a little bit more toned.”
     He poked Derek in the side, making his twitch as it tickled him. The discovery made Stiles' eyes light up as he made a new assault on Derek's sides.
     “Stop it, no!” Derek said, squiggling away. Eventually he managed to overpower Stiles pinning him to the bed, with his arms above his head. “Why do I put up with you?”
     “Because you love me,” Stiles informed him.
     “We've been going out less than a day and the L word comes out.” Derek looked amused rather than worried or freaked out.
     “You were the one who said it through song. In a manner of speaking. And Lydia's spell was supposed to make you dream of your one true love. I, however, am still some what out on the subject. I mean I might just use your body for sex and then...”
     Derek kissed him to shut him up. If that was going to happen then Stiles needed to talk constantly to ensure that Derek's lips never left his again.
     Stiles thought back to the night before, when Derek had woken him trying to climb into his bed. He had been dreaming, sleeping under the enchanted mistletoe. Derek had been a swashbuckling pirate. He'd been the naval commander who's ship Captain Hale had boarded. It pretty much just looked like the cover of a trashy romance novel, only in this case he'd been the heaving bussomed wench. It was odd though, he wasn't a big fan of the whole pirate thing. Maybe he'd heard Guybrush squawk in the night.
     Stiles pulled out of the kiss to look across, making sure that the sheet was still over Guybrush's cage. There were some things you didn't want anyone to see, not even your new pet parrot. Derek was kissing down the length of his body already, heading down towards his morning glory.
     One day soon they'd have to talk about what was going to happen when the new semester rolled around and it was time for Stiles to pack up and leave again. That was for future Stiles and future Derek to worry about. Right now, he was happy to wake up every morning wrapped in Derek's sheets.
     “We better be quick,” Stiles said, arching into Derek. “My Dad will be over in an hour and I really don't want to have to deal with announcing I'm screwing the man he's arrested for murder.”
     Derek grunted his acknowledgement. After all it was rude to talk with your mouth full. Yes. All in all it was a very good Christmas, and Stiles was very, very much looking forward to a Happy New Year. Nothing could possibly spoil the absolute perfection of this moment.
     Then the bass drums of the marching band started up outside.
     “DEREK!”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired after listening to Tropes are Forever by Julie B. (http://halffizzbin.tumblr.com/post/37127852372/a-loving-tribute-to-fanfiction-cliches-for) Make sure you check it out. I see the song as a challenge.  
> -Sex Pollen  
> -Falling in Love  
> -Folks that Keep Talking in their Sleep  
> -Mistletoe Kisses for the Holiday season  
> -Familiar and Sweet
> 
> Not bad for a start.
> 
> Credit goes to my friend Adam for naming Guybrush and rubychan05 for the wolves in santa hats idea. This is a real thing. They are on my tree. They are indeed amazing.


End file.
